Out Of The Vortex: The Darkest Days
by Cameron-Sholto
Summary: EPISODE 7: After a disturbing report that the Doctor, Violet, and Mira have taken to slaughtering people in 21st Century London, the team is thrown into conflict. Has the Doctor really become evil? Or is there something greater at work here?
1. Partings and Introductions

**Out Of The Vortex: The Darkest Days**

**_Doctor Who/Torchwood/Sherlock_**

**_Disclaimer: I do not own any of the original characters or concepts from any of these universes. I do own Mira. Faith Harkness is conceptualized by Rachel Brook and is used with permission. Susan Olivier and Violet Conway are OCs created by Anna Morris and Mary Kate Daily respectively, and are also used with permission. This is purely for entertainment. Do not sue my ass._**

* * *

><p><strong>Partings and Introductions<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Manchester, England: December 10, 2011<strong>

"Mira? Mira, talk to me."

The Doctor held the young woman's head out of the pool of blood that spread around her body, paying no mind to how it was staining his leather jacket. This was not how it was supposed to happen.

"It's. . . ok, Doctor," she murmured. "I was. . . A fool to try to take them. . . On by myself."

He shook his head sadly. "There's been too much death today. You've got to try and regenerate again."

She sighed, her slanted eyes closing slowly. "Not enough time. I'm only human, after all."

"No. No, you are so much more than that. Come on, Mira! You have to. We need you. Without you, they'll win."

She smiled sadly at him. "My dear Doctor. . . They won before we even started fighting. And I am tired. I want to see him. . . Again. . ."

With that, she gasped, collapsing in his arms.

The Doctor looked at Violet, who was shaking slightly, her eyes wide with pain and fear.

"We should never have tried to do this," she whispered. "Not without the others."

He nodded. "You're right, of course. Jack would have been a big help today, for all his buggery. He's a good soldier, when he doesn't run."

"What are we going to do now?"

He thought, his crystal eyes glowing with pain and anger. He thought of the young man who had stabbed Mira, of the enemies who had begun to unravel his plans, destroy the people he loved. He thought of Rose, alone and defenseless in London.

His scowl changed quickly, too quickly, to a grin.

"Well, no time to dally! We've got work to do."

* * *

><p><strong>221B Baker Street, London: 12 December 2011<strong>

As the rather battered and emotionally scarred team stood in the little flat, no words were spoken at first. Gwen looked around at the people she had grown close to, wondering what exactly had happened to all of them in Egypt. Not a one of them had come back unchanged.

Faith was probably the worst off. The immortal girl's characteristic cheer and calm had been replaced with a haunted look that changed to intense guilt every time she looked at Jack. It didn't take a mind reader to know that something truly terrible had happened between them.

Susan was perched on the couch, bags of sleeplessness under her eyes. Gwen knew that things between her and the chaotic John Hart had always been tense, but now Susan seamed as unstable as the maniac himself, who was also oddly silent.

She glanced over at Romana, who was talking quietly to John Watson in a corner of the room. She couldn't make out a lot of what was said, but she heard the words "Sherlock" and "another chance." The sad-faced young man was clearly having none of this.

Sherlock and Lestrade were standing in opposite sides of the room playing a rousing game of "not looking at you." She suspected that there was more going on there than either would admit, but she did not have time to analyze it before a hand on her shoulder made her jump.

"Easy," said Jack, smiling wearily at her. "It's just me."

"Jack." She smiled back at him. "Are you. . . Alright?"

He shrugged. "Don't worry about me. I've had worse."

He was lying. She rolled her eyes.

"So what are we going to do now? If what Lestrade said was true, and the Doctor really has turned against us –"

His eyes darkened. "What's this we business?"

She stared at him in shock. "What do you mean? We're a team, aren't we? I –"

"Not any more." He bit his bottom lip. It was subtle, but she could tell he was having some problems with this.

"Jack? Please, I can help."

"Go home, Gwen." He stared at her, eyes pleading. "Please, just go home. It won't be safe."

"It never is. But I'm not leaving you, Jack."

"Yes you are. That's an order. Go home and don't come back. I won't. . . I can't. . ."

She pulled him into a tight hug. "You aren't going to. Jack, you know I'd follow you anywhere. But if this is what you really want, I'll leave."

She smirked. "But if you don't come back this time, I swear to God I will track you down and kill you myself, immortality or not."

He laughed. "I'd like to see you try."

**St. Athans Hotel, London: Same Day**

"Well, this sucks."

Alyssa Byrne sighed to herself, rummaging through her carry-on. Heathrow had managed to lose her checked luggage, so all the plucky young student from Michigan had with her was her laptop and the contents of this bag.

She took stock of her situation: At least she had a toothbrush and a spare shirt, her money, and her passport. Things could be worse.

"I guess I'll just have to wait it out," she muttered, staring out the grungy window of her private apartment.

She had wanted an adventure, so in that regard things were off to a great start. She would hit the museums in the morning, she decided, and perhaps stop by the historic district. After all, her visa was only good for a couple months, and there was a lot of city to see.

But while she was still pondering her itinerary, she received a knock on her door. This startled her. She didn't know anyone in London.

"Yeah?" she asked, opening the door.

A tall man with short hair in a black leather jacket brushed her aside, wandering into the room and scanning it with some sort of strange flashlight thing.

"Yes, this will do nicely," he said, smiling goofily at her. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid you're going to have to leave. Mixup with the keys and all that. Plus there are rats. Big ones."

"What?" She stared at the man in shock. "I'm not going anywhere!"

"Oh yes you are. Violet?"

A sheepish young woman with flaming red hair appeared in the doorway. "Yes, Doctor?"

"Please escort Miss — I'm sorry, what was your name?"

"Al, but I don't see –"

"Yes. Lovely name. Rather androgynous. I like it. Please escort Miss Al off the premises."

Violet grabbed her with more strength that she expected. "This way."

"Hey! But wait, I –"

Violet smiled kindly at her. "Trust me, it's for the best. He's not in a good mood right now, and well, the rats."

Then the door was locked in her face.

"But my bag," she whined to herself. Now she really had nothing. She wandered down the street, thumbs in her pockets.

"I should probably go to the police," she mused.


	2. A Common Enemy

**A Common Enemy**

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><p><strong>221b Baker Street, London: 12 December 2011<strong>

Sherlock stalked about the edge of the main living area, clearly upset about something.

John watched his flatmate from the wall. He'd given his chair to Faith and really didn't mind standing. It was obvious that no one really knew why the 12 year old was there, considering what had happened not hours before. She was gazing at her hands, which were clenched tightly into fists.

DI Lestrade walked over to the consulting detective, concern bright in his brown eyes. "What is it, Sherlock? Criminals on a rampage and suddenly you don't want to play?" He stepped closer to the man, reaching out but drawing his hand back timidly with a closed fist.

Sherlock looked at him incredulously. "My dear Lestrade, we did just come home after a long journey. An unexpected journey. So if you would not mind, shut up and let me think, would you?"

Lestrade stared at him, hurt, but quickly shook it off. He wandered back to the rest of the team. "So you lot know this _Doctor_ fellow. . . though to be fair I don't even think he's a real doctor. What can you tell me about him?"

Sherlock scoffed. "Please. That's all you've got?"

Lestrade rolled his eyes. "What, like you've got this sorted already? Don't even."

John smiled slightly. He'd missed this. "You sound surprised, Lestrade. Did you really think he wouldn't?"

Susie smirked. "The Doctor? He's smarter than Sherlock." She looked slyly at him as she said the words. She needed someone to rile…

Sherlock's eyes flashed dangerously at Susie. He was intrigued. "Oh, really? Well, this could actually be worth my while. John? How about some tea? Need to think."

Lestrade stared at John. He'd always pegged him as Sherlock's cheerleader, but this time, he seemed even more confident in the man. He sighed. "Well, it's not as if he's met the man before. . ."

Sherlock smirked at him.

Lestrade frowned. "No. You're kidding."

"I never kid," replied Sherlock, storm eyes flashing.

John sighed. Back to this game again. Tea. Right. That would get him out of the way. "Faith, do you mind coming with me?"

The little girl looked up, nodded quickly and followed the man into the kitchen.

Susie stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Any coffee, John? If so I'll help you out."

Once in the kitchen, John pulled out the kettle that was-not-to-be-touched-by-Sherlock's-experiments and handed it to Susie. "Fill that up. I'll see if we have any. Knowing Sherlock, he may have gotten his hands on the pack I got last week."

It took him only a moment of hunting around to find the tea and the coffee bin. . . in one of Sherlock's cabinets.

He frowned. "Dammit all, Sherlock!"

Susie filled the kettle quickly and set it heating up. "Prolly knew we were coming. How quickly do you think he'll have us moving? I really need something to kill."

Faith smiled at the militant Aussie. "Not long, most likely. That is if Lestrade and Sherlock can keep their tempers in line."

She nodded at the girl. "Faith, maybe you could distract Lestrade for a few minutes then? If I tried, Sherlock'd kill me!" She started hunting through cupboards for mugs and the sugar, not game enough to open the fridge knowing who used it. "Or we could just sit here and watch the fireworks. That'll be fun too!"

Meanwhile, in the sitting area, Lestrade stalked over to Sherlock. "A moment?"

Sherlock didn't even look up. "No. Stop bothering me."

"I just want to ask you a question."

He sighed. "Yes, I know. And no, I'm not going to tell you. Ask John, if you're so damned curious."

Hart stood up from the couch, rolling his eyes at Sherlock and Lestrade. "Whelp, you lot are boring. I'm going to go find something interesting to do." He got up from the couch and was about five steps from the door when Lestrade pulled a gun on him.

"Sit. Down," he hissed. "I don't trust you, not even so far as I can throw you, you tosser."

Sherlock stared at his old friend, intrigued. "And when did you start carrying a gun?"

Lestrade turned to him, his eyes bright with pain. "You were gone. Things changed."

John looked up and out of the kitchen doorway, his eyes wide. "Christ."

Susie laughed. "Oh, this is gonna be better than I expected! Watson? You have any biscuits anywhere?"

Hart gulped. "No need to get touchy, mate. I'll just make myself at home then."

The look that passed between Sherlock and Lestrade was undefinable, but the room seemed to glow with tension.

Sherlock stared deeply into his eyes. "You really got out of your depth. Admit it."

Lestrade gulped. "You have no idea what happened when you and John vanished, do you? People. . . people died."

Sherlock's eyes widened in recognition. "Oh. Oh, Greg. . ." He moved towards him, but was cut off as John re-entered the room, eyeing him with alarm.

"Who?"

Lestrade looked away. He had no reason to air his dirty laundry with everyone. He sighed, putting the gun down. "Anyway, I really want to stop these people. They're terrorists, murderers. They've taken out several members of government –"

Sherlock's eyes widened again.

John gasped. "Shit…" His eyes met Sherlock's. They were both thinking the same thing.

_Mycroft._

Lestrade sighed. "Relax, your brother is fine. A bit banged up, I'm afraid. Explosion tore through his office right before I came looking for you."

"What else have they done?" cried Faith in alarm.

Lestrade was about to answer when there was a rather loud obnoxious knock on the door.

"Freak! Are you in there?"

"Donovan." John sighed, walking to the door.

The Detective Sargent strode in along with Anderson and a very confused-looking young woman.

She smirked at Lestrade slightly. "Figures you're here too, sir. We have a young tourist here says she's been robbed and thrown out of her hotel room."

"Really?" asked Lestrade, eyes narrowing. "That's not exactly our divi. . ." He trailed off at the haunted look on the girl's face. "What happened?"

Al sighed. "Man and a woman came into my hotel room and turned me out. I went to the police immediately. You ARE the police, aren't you?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

Lestrade stared at her, his eyes softening. An American. Poor thing. "Awful way to start your time in London, I'll imagine. It's alright, Miss . . ."

"Byrne. Alyssa Byrne." she smirked lasciviously at him. "But _you_ can call me Al."

Lestrade blushed slightly. He will never get used to flirty women. "Right. Al. So what did these intruders look like?"

"Well, one was a sort of biker-looking guy with a badass leather jacket. Sort of oldish, like you. The chick was a redhead. Mousy-looking."

Faith's eyes snapped up at the description.

Susie dropped the coffee spoon in shock, then spun around and strode quickly over to the girl, grabbing her arm in a tight grip. "Where are they, and how long ago?"

Al hissed in shock at the woman's vise-like grip. "Oww, bitch! Get off! I've had a bad enough day without you manhandling me like a side of beef!"

Susie frowned, gripping all the tighter. "Not even close to the day _I've_ had, honey. Now tell me where and when and I'll let go…otherwise I'll break your arm, got me?"

Sherlock sniggered. "Trap. It's a trap."

Faith rolled her eyes. "Of course it is," she muttered under her breath. She turned to the angry Aussie. "Susie! Let her go."

Susie gripped the girl's arm tighter for a moment before taking a deep breath and releasing her grip slowly. "Sorry Faith, you're right. I can always break her arm later."

She turned her back on Al and walked stiffly over to the window where she stood rigidly, staring at nothing.

Lestrade glared at her. "Leave the girl alone, will you?" Al smiled at him gratefully, but he quickly turned to Sherlock. "You're right, I'm sure. So what should we do?"

Sherlock thought for a moment. "Mmm. . . yes. Let's go over there and see if we can get a read on them. John, bring your gun. You too, Greg."

They eyed each other wearily.

Al groaned. "Why is it always the dashing ones?"

Faith's eyes softened towards Susie. "Forgive her, Miss Byrne. She's had a rough couple of weeks."

Susie snorted at the mild description. "Weeks, years, my whole damn life it feels like! Faith, do me a favour and find out where Violet is will you? It's way past time for a chat with my partner."

Lestrade put a hand on John's shoulder. "A word in the kitchen, if I may?"

He stared at the older man, confused. "Right now? Um…Sure."

As they walked into the kitchen, Lestrade stared into John's face, analyzing him. "So what happened? You two are acting. . . different. It's like after that thing with Moriarty, but worse." He paused, concern evident on his face. "John, please. Talk to me."

John straightened, attempting to gather his thoughts. He should have seen this coming. "A lot happened. And nothing at all." He eyed Lestrade. "It's hard to explain."

Lestrade's eyes widened. "So something. . . I should have _known_ you were holding back!" He turned away. "You kissed him, yeah? Something like that? You promised you. . . I can't look at you right now."

He swept out of the room and towards the door.

Sherlock stared at him as he flew by. "Where are you going?"

"None of your business!" he hissed, fleeing the flat.

John swept out behind Lestrade. He glared at Sherlock as he passes out the door.

_How the hell did everything get so complicated?_

* * *

><p><strong>New Scotland Yard, London: Same Day<strong>

Lestrade sat in his office, his face unreadable.

He picked up a photograph from his desk. It was of Sherlock, holding a little girl with long brown hair and deep brown eyes. She couldn't be more than 6 or 7.

She was smiling at the camera.

He ran a finger across her face, weeping gently.

_Grace, I'm so sorry._

There was a knock on the door. He didn't even look up. "Go away."

John walked in anyway. "No."

He stalked over to Lestrade's desk. "Listen and listen good. First off. I never promised anything. So, wherever you got that bloody notion, throw it out. Secondly, it wasn't like that."

Lestrade looked up at him with bloodshot eyes. "Wasn't like what? Look, John. I had a lot of respect for you. I was willing to think we could be friends. And I don't know why I dared to hope. . . but there it is. I should have left you two in Egypt to rot."

He slammed the picture to the desk hard enough to crack the glass, turning towards the window so John couldn't see his face.

John's shoulders sagged. He was not going to reach him and he knew it.

"Sometimes," he whispered, "I wish you had."

The picture that Lestrade slammed down caught John's attention and he picked it up.

Lestrade turned back to him. He looked much older than normal, worn down, tired. "That's why, you know. Why I've been fighting all this time. It was all for them."

John gazed at the picture of Sherlock and the girl. It was obvious that the girl was Lestrade's daughter. His eyes misted. "You haven't lost. You have no reason to stop fighting."

Lestrade's eyes gleamed with irrational anger and sadness. "Don't tell me I have something to fight for, John Watson! And don't you dare tell me I haven't lost! You weren't here! You didn't see what I saw!" He sighed, the sorrow taking over. "Her name was Grace. Happened all of a sudden. About a week before I found you two. Bastards bombed a building next to a playground. Time's a funny thing like that. Managed to bring you two back from the dead. . . can't do a bloody thing about her."

John looked down at the smiling girl in the photo, tears brimming in his eyes. Sure, he was a soldier, but losing a child on your watch. . .that was hard. It was like Sherlock firing his own gun at his head all over again.

"I'm sorry, Greg. I really am."

Lestrade sighed. "Oh, what does it matter? You won. You won. I don't know why I can't. . . I was so close, John. So close." He closed his eyes, rocking slightly.

John shook his head. "I never _won_, Greg! You know how Sherlock is. Hell. I'm fool enough to think that something might actually happen. But it won't. I've lost. Badly." He put the photo down reverently and turned his back to the detective. "You weren't there. You didn't see what he did. He…"

John's shoulders slumped.

_Why would he force me to forget?_

Lestrade sighed, unlocking the bottom drawer of his desk and pulling out a bottle of scotch and two glasses. "Wow. Sorry, just. . . wow. I think we both need some of this."

John turned back around, drying his eyes with a sad chuckle. "You think?"

After a few "well, maybe just one more"s, Lestrade and John were laughing their asses off.

The detective gasped with amusement. "He really. . . oh my God, I'm so sorry! I thought he stopped doing that after I caught him with MY toothbrush!"

John stared at him with half-glazed eyes. "Toothbrush? You're kidding right? And then there was the time with the bees in the living room…"

Lestrade giggled, then his face suddenly sobered. "Er, John, shouldn't we. . . I mean, they're probably wondering where we went.

"Most likely." John stood, surprisingly steady for the amount of alcohol he'd consumed. "Shall we?"

"Yesh," slurred Lestrade. He was not so well off on his feet. John had to help him back to the flat.

* * *

><p>221b Baker Street, London<p>

Meanwhile, as the hours went by, everyone back at the flat was getting restless. Sherlock eyed the clock. It was now well into the next morning, and still nothing had been done.

"Where are they. . .?" he murmured, pacing.

Anderson, tired of being ignored, turned to Sherlock. "So, our Resident Psych – sorry- Sociopath, runs away with his pet, and London goes to hell. Then our own Detective Inspector disappears and things get worse. Now I find you all playing lets sit around and twiddle our thumbs. Don't tell me you've gotten bored with playing detective, have you?"

Sherlock turned to him with a sneer. "Shut up, Anderson. I'm sure whatever's going on is your fault. Make no mistake."

Anderson smirked back. "As an insult, that was verging on the nice. What the hell is wrong with you?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes at Anderson, ignoring him.

Al wandered towards the door. "Awkward. . . well, I'll just go. . ."

Hart grabbed her shoulders, shaking his head. "Oh no you don't luv. I can't leave, you can't leave. We'll just have to wait it out."

Tired of merely keeping quiet and watching, Romana stood up, glaring at Anderson. "I rather think you should look in the mirror, Mr. Anderson."

Anderson looked back at the Time lady, hurt. "Hey! don't blame me ma'am, I'm not the genius consulting detective that messes with the lives of lesser people for fun, then leaves them to clean up his messes!"

Sherlock's eyes swelled with deep sadness and self-hatred. He didn't need to be reminded.

Romana smiled gently. "Who said I was blaming you? I just said you should look in the mirror, you took what you wanted out of it." She turned to Al, smiling at her. "I think I can find the Doctor. If Miss Alyssa would be kind enough to point me in the direction of the hotel? That way, we can get to work, and stop playing the blame game! I go way back with the man in question… He wasn't always… welllll, sometimes. But not as bad as everyone thinks. I need your help, though."

Susie sighed in relief. "Finally! Someone with an idea worth following. Can we _please _get on with it?"

Al nodded. "Alright. It's a bit of a hike, but follow me."

John and Lestrade burst through the door, Lestrade wrapped around Watson's shoulders.

"CUZ BAYBEEEE YERRR A !" belted the DI at the slightly baffled-looking ex-Army doctor.

Sherlock stared at them, sighing angrily. "Oh great. It's been hours, and they're pissed."

John giggled at Lestrade, turning to Sherlock. "Why wuld tha be, Lock?"

Susie looked at the drunken men with a mixture of amusement and envy.

_Oh to be able to forget, even for a little while…_

Sherlock sighed. "John, put him. . . no, don't do that. . . put him on the couch. The rest of you, perhaps we'd best get on with it. I'm not waiting around for these imbeciles to sober up."

Anderson rolled his eyes. "Oh for crying out loud! What the hell has got into you all?"

John did as Sherlock instructed, he misjudged the couch and ended up tripping, nearly falling on top of Lestrade. "Sorry bout that, mate."

Lestrade moaned. "'sokay. . . hey, John. . . tell Sherlock. . ." He started giggling, unable to retain a straight face.

Sherlock stared at him. "Tell me what?"

The giggling continued as John joined in.

"WHAT?" bellowed Sherlock.

John's giggles only intensified at the look on Sherlock's face.

"Now, this is my kind of party!" called Jack Harkness, entering from Sherlock's bedroom with his newly-modified wrist-strap. "While I'd love to stay and play, we do need to find the Doctor. My bet is on Romana, so, I'll be going with her. Faith?"

Al looked at Lestrade in concern, trying not to laugh. "Do ALL your cops drink that much? No wonder my hotel room got broken into." She looked up at Sherlock. "I'll stay here with them. Why don't you go to the hotel with everyone else? Here's the address."

Faith looked up at her father, eyes hopeful. "You…you want me to come?"

"Of course! I couldn't leave my favorite girl behind."

Faith blinked hard at that, but something within her flicked. Jack grinned widely at her, then turned to Romana and Susie.

"Ladies, shall we?"

Laughing softly, Romana shook her head, feeling slightly like they were in a harem all over again. "Let's go… As the Doctor would say, 'Allons~y!'"

John stood, sobering up. "I'm coming too."

Susie pushed him down as she passed him. "Stay there a little longer kiddo, no need to get yourself dead as well as drunk."

Sherlock nodded. "John, you're hardly in a position to . . ." He sighed at the look of determination on his friend's face. "Fine. But if you're going to throw up, use Jack's coat, not mine."

Jack frowned. "Hey! I'm the only one allowed to throw up on my coat! It's antique, one of a kind…" He gave Sherlock a measuring look. "But I'm thinking we could work something out…"

Lestrade tried to get up, glaring at Jack. "Oh not another one. Get outta here."

Anderson sighed. "Well I'll stay here and sober up the Inspector shall I? Since no one else is willing to even remember his existence?"

Al smiled gently at him. "I'd appreciate the company, Mr. Anderson. Thank you."

* * *

><p><strong>St. Anthan's Hotel, London: 12 December 2011<strong>

The Doctor finished duct taping a collection of trash together. He leaned back and smiled at his handiwork. "Fantastic! You know, I always knew that duct tape would come in handy." His eyes grew sad and a little bitter as he stared over at his companion. "I'm sorry, Violet. About Mira. We were just making some progress and that stupid ape had to interfere."

Violet looked away when the Doctor said Mira's name. It still hurt to think about her, even though she had dealt with the pain of losing her once before, everything she had to remind her of what Lucian used to be was gone. "Doctor? Is this the best thing to do? And what the hell is that thing?"

He sighed. "I don't know what you mean by best. I'm sort of making this up as I go. And this is a trans-temporal projection array. . ." He stopped at the blank look on her face. "Er. . . it'll basically project images over us. Like camouflage. Sometimes psychic paper just isn't enough."

Violet looked at the pile of trash taped together with duct tape apprehensively. "If you say so. Anything I can do to help? I am tired of sitting here moping."

"Just tell me who you want to be. I can make you taller, shorter, blonde, brunette. . . maybe even the pope, if you'd like, though that would be a little too conspicuous."

At the last suggestion the young Irishwoman had to smile a little bit. "Brown straight hair and maybe an inch or two taller? I am pretty sure this head of hair is too noticeable, and I just want to experience life taller."

He beamed. "Fantastic! Always did like brunettes." The Doctor fiddled a bit, changing their appearances.

Violet was taller and thinner with long chestnut hair. The Doctor now resembled a thin but athletic young man with light brown hair and a nifty pair of sunglasses. When he spoke, his accent had changed to American.

"Well, now we hide this and wait."

Violet frowned. "What are we hiding for and from?"

"You know those people who want us dead? All of them? Well, I have a feeling our little American's on her way to them right now."

Violet stared incredulously at him. "If you knew she was going to do that then why did you kick her out? Why not just find an empty room?"

He rolled his eyes. "Relax, Vi, will you? This room had the best location. And also, if we have any hope of clearing our names, we needed her to do just that."

Violet took a deep breath. "OK. I'm sorry, just not used to wanting people to kill me." She paused. "So we are trying to lure them here? But yet we had to change to this so that we won't be noticed?"

The Doctor sighed. "Well, the goal is to see what we're up against, not get arrested or shot."

"So it's like a game?"

The Doctor beamed at her. "Exactly. Only, we still don't know all the players." His eyes grew dark. "Whoever's running this, they're good. Too good."

Violet shivered at the look in his eyes. "Well I guess that means we have to be that much better, right? I am sure once we get something figured out people will believe us…"

The Doctor grinned widely. "That's the spirit!"

Violet sighed.

_Great. People trying to kill me and I am stuck with a complete lunatic!_

She coughed. "Should we think of a plan for when whoever they are gets here?"

"Oh, it's a bit late for that," muttered the Doctor, peering out the window at a small troop of black-shirts. "Someone got a tip, I'd say."

"What do we do?"

The Doctor smiled awkwardly. "Before they get here, I just have to say, I am SO sorry for this."

As footfalls rise on the stairs, he grabbed her and pulled her into a passionate kiss.

The troops kicked in the door. As the point man stepped through, he stopped and gulped. "Oh, Christ. Wrong room. Sorry." They continued searching, leaving them be.

Violet turned bright red. "Not what I was expecting, but I guess it worked" She turned away from him to keep from looking at him and turning even redder. "Uh. . . Should we get going in case they decide that we were who they were looking for?"

He shook his head. "No, we'd better stay put. We're safe enough for now."

"What are we waiting for exactly? Or is it who? The person that has set us up?"

"I've no idea, honestly. But hopefully it'll be our old friends."

Violet sighed. "Our friends. They always seem to appear when I am in trouble. But it kind of hurts that my Lucian isn't going to be there, and after the reaction I got from Susie about Mira being dead last time, I am sure it's going to be worse."

The Doctor smirked. "Oh, probably! This'll be fun!"

The door swung open to reveal the team.

"Oh, hello," greeted the Doctor. "I'm sorry, but may we help you?"

Hart frowned. "Um, sorry. Do we have the wrong place? This man's American."

Romana smiled. "Hello, we're looking for someone…" She studied him closely. She knew it was the Doctor, but how to explain it to the others?

Typical of himself, and true to form, Jack was obviously checking out the extremely good looking man who opened the door. "Why, hello. . ."

Faith merely observed, face neutral.

Watson eyed everyone carefully.

The Doctor nodded at Jack. "Oh, you're an American? Then you aren't police."

Sherlock sighed. "Oh, stuff it, Doctor. You've gotten sloppy. Look, if you're going to impersonate someone, pick someone I haven't met, will you?"

Romana smirked. "Thank you, Sherlock. Saves me the trouble. Speaking of trouble… " She stepped closer to the Doctor, giving him a light shove. "Mr. Trouble-Is-My-Middle-Name! What on Gallifrey is going on here?"

The Doctor sighed, clearly disappointed. "Right. How are you, Sherlock?" He changed his face and Violet's back to normal.

Sherlock sighed again. "Bored. Thought you'd be harder to track down."

Faith bit her lip, her eyes locking with Violet.

_ Does she remember….? Does she hate me?_

Violet looked at Faith with a brief look of confusion but then smiled. "Faith, why do you look scared?"

At mention of the Doctor, Susie pushed into the room and looked at the other occupant. After staring at her a moment, she drew her gun on her. "Alright Violet my girl, time to start explaining just what you've been up to, don't you think?"

Sherlock nodded. "Agreed. What are you. . . oh. Oh! Of course!"

Violet looked down, mumbled a bit, and hid behind the Doctor.

Susie frowned. "Try that again a bit louder Vi, or do you want to lose something important?"

Violet looked around the Doctor. "Put away the gun and maybe I will explain!"

Suddenly, the glass window broke and Hart staggered in, guns drawn. "Alright. What in god's name is going on here, and more importantly why isn't anyone stopping me from doing _this_?" He shot Jack in the leg.

Hart, who was ALSO standing by the door, looked confused. "What the bloody hell?"

Jack cringed. "What in the he- OW! DAMNIT!" He dropped to the floor, clutching his leg. "Hart! What the… What? Urgh, this must really hurt more as a mortal, I'm seeing double!"

John blinked, not sure if this was really happening or a a figment of his drunken mind. "Dammit all, Lestrade. What did you put in that scotch?"

Sherlock smiled. "Oh, that explains everything."

Faith charged at the shooter, kicking the gun out of his hands.

With barely a change in expression, Susie turned her arm and shot the new Hart in both shoulders before returning the gun to Vi. The real Hart winced as he saw the callous look on his ex-fiance's face.

"Violet," she hissed. "I'm waiting."

Violet pulled out her gun and pointed it at Susie "I said I would explain if you put the gun DOWN!"

Susie stepped back and lowered her gun, turning away from Violet as if there wasn't a gun pointed at her. "Forget it, it's obvious when you think about it."

The impostor Hart slowly melted into a puddle of white goo.

Sherlock grimaced. "Well, that can't be good."

"You think?" muttered the Doctor.


	3. Bleeding From The Soul

**Bleeding From The Soul**

* * *

><p><strong>221b Baker Street, London: 13 December 2011<strong>

Al sat on the edge of the couch, watching Lestrade sleep. It was funny, she mused, how much younger he looked when he was unconscious. It was as if there was an innocence that enveloped him when he thought no one was watching him, a sense of safe. It calmed her just to watch.

She shook her head. No, she had no business getting involved here. None at all. The man was old enough to be her father, and clearly she wasn't the only one who recognized his worth.

But perhaps he didn't know that. Perhaps that was what drove him to this breaking point.

She sighed, reaching out a hand to brush his cheek.

"I wouldn't."

The voice startled her. She had forgotten about the young officer who had brought her here. What was his name again? Oh, yes. Anderson.

She looked at him cryptically. "I'm just taking his temperature. Relax."

He glared at her like a guard dog. "Right. And I'm the Queen of Sheba." His eyes softened, and he sighed. "Look, luv, with the Detective Inspector. . . It's better to let him find his own way."

"How can you say that?" she cried, her eyes wide with surprise. "Don't you care about him at all?"

He rolled his eyes. "He's. . . he's just sloshed. Happens sometimes." His voice was shaking.

"Mr. Anderson, please." She looked at him sympathetically. "I know you care about him. And you and I both know that this is more than a drinking session. Now are you going to make me some tea to help sober him up before the others get back, or do I have to do everything myself?"

Anderson started to snark back, but stopped, sighed, and went to the kitchen. "Bloody Americans."

Lestrade moaned softly, muttering to himself in his sleep. Al could only pick up snatches of it, and what she heard didn't make much sense.

"Flowers. . .buy flowers. . .fire. . . no. . .John. . ."

John? She stared at him. Wasn't that the name of the blond one? Oh, yes. The one he'd gone drinking with. But he wasn't. . .

She stared at him, her heart tight in her throat. He couldn't possibly be involved with _both_ of them, could he?

"Good Goddess, Detective Inspector. You're more interesting than I thought."

"Greg," he muttered, snorting slightly.

"Oh, _another_ one? Parties must be fun at your house."

He opened his eyes slightly, looking at her with a sleepy smile.

"_My_ name. My name is Greg."

"Ah."

She suddenly felt extremely awkward sitting so close to him. It was all well and good when he didn't know she was there, but now. . . They'd only just met, and she hadn't been at her best.

As she moved away, however, his arm snaked out and he caught her gently by the wrist.

"No, 'salright. Please stay. And can you. . ." He gestured awkwardly, his motor skills still affected. She sighed. He must have had a lot of scotch.

She grabbed him securely by the shoulders and helped him sit up. He smiled at her gratefully, if a little shyly.

"Thanks. Sorry about all this." his voice was shaky, though he did his best to hold it steady. "Your day's prolly been worse than mine."

She smiled gently back at him. "I doubt it. It's been pretty lousy, but I wasn't out singing Katy Perry with my boyfriend. I mean, boyfriend's one thing, but geez."

He stared at her, muttering a thanks as Anderson returned with tea and placed a large coffee mug of it in his hands.

"Boyfriend?" he sighed. "Who." It was a statement, not a question.

"Can't remember which?" She smiled demurely. " The blond one."

He stared at her in confusion. "John?"

She nodded.

He laughed so hard he just about fell over.

"Oh, no. What? Oh. . . Well, that _would_ solve a few things, but no. I can't, oh, that's just. . .." he dissolved into laughter.

She pouted, a little annoyed that she'd gotten it wrong, but secretly a little pleased. "Well, it's not that funny."

"Yes it is. You have no idea."

He looked over at Anderson, who was watching him with concern. "Anderson, could you keep Donovan company guarding the entrance? It's bound to be a little cold out there."

He nodded, eyeing Al with a look that begged her to try anything and see what happens. She gulped.

As they sat in silence, sipping on tea and watching the clock move, Lestrade suddenly turned to the young woman.

"Thank you."

She smiled. "For what? All I did was sit with you. Mr. Anderson made the tea."

He patted her on the shoulder. "It was just what I needed. Just knowing that someone was worried about me, even a stranger."

She stared at him, shocked. "What the hell are you talking about? Everyone's been worried about you. Are you that blind? Mr. Anderson practically murdered me for sitting so close to you. Sherlock too. He left in a huff." She paused, trying to work up the courage to ask him. . . "What happened between you and him, anyway?"

"Sorry, that's personal," he snapped, his dark eyes suddenly shot through with bitterness and pain.

She sighed. "Greg. Who am I going to tell? You clearly need to get something off your chest."

He rolled his eyes. "You're as bad as my priest. Fine."

She listened intently as he laid out the rough details of his history with Sherlock Holmes: the days of carrying him through drug withdrawal, the fights, the awkward drunken night when they had kissed. . .

"Hold up," she said. "He kissed you? And you still don't know if he has feelings for you or not?"

"He was drunk."

"You're an idiot."

He chuckled at this. "Not the first time I've been called that. Doubt it'll be the last."

He stared at her, watching the way she moved, the way she half-smiled at him as she listened to his story. He gulped.

"What's wrong?"

He sighed. "You just. . . The way you. . . You remind me of my wife."

She stared. He hadn't mentioned a wife. Now she felt stupid.

"Wife?" she asked, hoping her voice didn't crack.

"Ex wife. Late wife," he added, looking away.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "Perhaps I've asked you too much."

"No," he muttered. "No, I haven't talked to anyone about any of this in a long time. Aster was the last, you see. She could always get me to tell her anything. Just like you."

She was speechless for a second. Then she grinned, trying desperately to lighten the mood.

"Well, aren't you just a delightful mountain of combustible baggage!"

Lestrade snorted. "I'm not sure about combustible." He smiled strangely at her, his eyes scanning her face.

"And what about you, Al? There's something. . . You've got your own share of baggage, haven't you? How old are you even?"

"Nineteen." She stared at him, praying he wouldn't ask her to elaborate on the baggage bit.

He sighed. "Damn."

"What?"

He smirked, blushing slightly "I was sort of hoping you just looked young for your age."

She snorted in amusement. "Oh, really? And why's that?"

"No reason. Forget I said anything." He looked away, and she saw the sadness creeping back into his eyes. No. No, she wasn't going to let this happen.

"Greg. Look at me."

He complied reluctantly. She reached out, touching his cheek gently, hesitatingly.

"I know you're in love with him. It's fine. And I know none of this makes any sense to you. You want to protect me. But when I left home. . . I. . . I had my reasons. And I'm not as naïve as you think I am. So stop it."

"I. . ." he started. She shushed him with a finger to his lips.

"I know. I know what you're going to say. And I told you, it's fine. I don't care. As long as you need me, however you need me. I'll be here."

He leaned in and kissed her gently on the cheek.

"Thank you," he whispered.

She sighed. Well, it was good enough for government work.


	4. The Fleshy Menace

**The Fleshy Menace**

* * *

><p><strong>St. Anthan's Hotel, London: 13 December 2011<strong>

Sherlock stared with marked interest at the puddle on the floor.

"Curious. Some sort of pudding man. Doctor, I can tell by the way you're standing that you've encountered this before."

The Doctor nodded. Nothing the detective could infer surprised him any more. "Well, not exactly. I heard rumors. But this is wrong. This technology's all wrong for the 21st Century. You aren't supposed to have this yet."

**"**So I gathered. Then why. . ." Sherlock's eyes widened in comprehension. "Oh."

John Hart frowned. He was losing patience with the detective.** "**What is it, you ponce?"

Sherlock turned abruptly to Violet. "Where were you before you came here? What have you done?"

Violet thought back, unsure of what the man wanted from her. "Mira died again, and then we came here and kicked that American girl out of the room."

Hart stared at Susie, hoping she didn't start shooting again.

Susie stopped and turned slowly back towards Violet, her face a mask of stone.** "**She's dead?…Again?"

Watson seized Susie, holding her arms behind her back and pulling her gun from her grasp.

The Doctor looked at her, his face in anguish. He knew how close the time agents were.

Violet sighed.** "**Yes, she is dead again. There was nothing I could do to stop it. If I could have I would have. So don't be blaming me. Someone else killed her."

The Doctor's eyes were bright with compassion. "Permanently this time. I'm sorry. At least it was quick."

Susie twisted out of John's grip, nodding to him as if to say she wasn't going to get violent._** "**_I'm all right, mate. Vi? Why did she die? What have you been doing?"

Romana looked from the Doctor to Violet, wondering what secrets they weren't telling. She knew there was something there…

Violet's voice cracked slightly as she spoke. "Stabbed. The Doctor tried to get her to regenerate. He really did try…"

Sherlock's eyes glowed**. "**Yes. Stabbed. Quick, close, unexpected. It's written all over your faces."

Hart frowned. "But _why_ did they kill her?"

The Doctor thought for a moment. "I think. . . I think that he was trying to be a hero."

Sherlock scoffed at the word.

Susie looked around at everyone. They were all staring at her, different variations of wariness and fear on their faces. She turned back to Violet, rolling her eyes._** "**_Goddammit! Stop looking at me as if I'll blow up at any moment! I said goodbye to Mira _before_ she turned into that Asian chick, alright?" She whipped around and grabbed her gun from Watson before he had time to blink, then aimed it at the Doctor.** "**You, however, might like to explain what you were doing to get her killed!"

The Doctor held up his hands, his face unreadable._ "_We were trying to find the source of the problem, the three of us. Something very, very bad is happening. The fate of the universe might well depend on stopping it. We. . . we got set up. While we were investigating. Became London's most wanted overnight. We got too close to the truth. And we. . . Mira. . . paid for it. I'm so, so very sorry."

Susie tilted her head as she looked at him, then put her gun away with a sigh._** "**_Know who killed her?"

Romana had other priorities**.** "So what _did_ you discover? If it's that important, we all need to know."

With a groan, Jack shifted, attempting to stand up._ "_It doesn't help that I'm mortal, now, and I'm still _bleeding_! Damnit, people… What was that thing? I've never seen a person explode into goo… Oh." He grinned wickedly.

**"**Oh. . ." replied Faith.

"Oh!" gasped Sherlock, his eyes bright with recognition. "Finally, something I can legitimately whine to Lestrade about."

Faith's eyes went to Sherlock. They both knew. Everything made nodded. They'd best keep this to themselves.

Susie looked between Sherlock and Faith suspiciously. They knew something…

The Doctor abruptly cut into the awkward silence.** "**In any case, it doesn't matter. We have to stop this flesh before it takes over the city. Though I fear from all the destruction that it may already be too late. We need to find out who's pulling the strings. Anyone have any theories?"

Sherlock frowned. "We won't go. Not without my DI, we won't."

Watson nodded. He kind of wanted Lestrade there too. That didn't mean the statement didn't hurt slightly.

Sherlock took note of the look in his eyes, but continued. "We'll have to be stealthy. Can't have the idiot police trying to off you two."

Faith nodded. It was practical.

They hastily wrapped the Doctor and Violet in their coats. There is some protest from the Doctor as he tried to explain that he had a machine for that, but no one paid attention.

Watson sighed. "If we are ready…"

* * *

><p><strong>221b Baker Street, London: 13 December 2011<strong>

As the ragtag band crept in the back entrance of 221b Baker Street, Lestrade had finally managed to sober up. Donovan and Anderson had returned inside, confident that no threat was imminent. Lestrade waved Donovan off.

**"**Sally, I left my files at the office. Will you go get them?"

She sighed, muttering to herself about how much she's not his dog.

After she left, the team appeared. Jack is draped over Hart's shoulder, his leg hastily tourniquetted by Watson. He appeared annoyed and pained. Hart, naturally, was beaming.

The Doctor and Violet crept in behind, faces covered.

"How you feeling, Greg?" asked Watson cautiously.

"Fine," muttered Lestrade.

Romana frowned at Hart.** "**John, set him down gently, at least? I am sorry, Jack." She got a grunt in return, but then a quick smirk.

"It's alright," hissed Jack. "He'll get what's coming to him once I'm not mortal anymore… And this time, he _won't_ enjoy it."

Al scowled at the Doctor and Vi. "What the hell are they doing here? They're the ones who broke into my room! Why are they here?"

Violet looked at Byrne and rolled her eyes. "Stupid American," she muttered under her breath.

The girl leapt at Violet, eyes aflame. "You wanna start something, bitch?"

"Get off me!" screamed the time agent. "If we didn't kick you out, you would have wished we did! Now back off before I get angry!"

Lestrade eyed them warily. "Sherlock, please tell me you didn't."

Sherlock shrugged. "Didn't what?"

In a flash, Lestrade was up with a gun to the Doctor's chest._ "_Didn't invite a _fucking terror cell_ to tea!"

Susie followed behind the covered pair. At the sight of Lestrade's gun she moved in front of the Doctor, putting herself in the way.** "**Wanna shoot? Go ahead." She stared at him with calm, fearless eyes.

Faith made herself very small by Jack's side.

John helped Hart put Jack on the couch and turned to Lestrade, eyes pleading with him. "Don't get too hasty there, Greg."

Lestrade sighed, pulling the safety off his gun. _"_Explain. Explain to me why I can't kill the man who ruined my life. I'd be a hero."

"Because he's innocent," replied Sherlock. He walked_ calmly past Susie and eased Lestrade's gun hand down._

**"**And you can prove it?"

"Not yet. But I need your help to catch the person responsible for all this." He whispered softly, repeating himself. "I. Need. You."

Lestrade sighed, meeting John's gaze. He knew he was being played, but he trusted Sherlock's judgement. "Fine. Hey, Al?"

She stopped pulling Violet's hair and looked up at him inquisitively.

"Let her go."

Byrne got off her reluctantly._ "_Fine. I'll play nice. But only because _you_ asked, Greg."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. When did he become "Greg?_"_

Lestrade ignored him. "Al, here." He tossed her the gun. No words are needed. She nodded and went to guard the door.

Anderson walked in from the kitchen. When he spotted the two criminals surrounded by Sherlock and his menagerie his face turned deathly white. "YOU…YOU!" All reason out the window, he picked up the nearest object and ran, screaming in rage at the pair.

Susie aimed her gun at his forehead just as he reached them. "I'm guessing you're the one who killed Mira, yes?"

Sherlock smirked. "Called it."

Faith rolled her eyes. "It was kinda obvious."

Susie dug the gun into Anderson's forehead as she tilted her head in question. "How should I return the favour, hmmm? I can kill you fast or slow. Which would hurt more?"

Violet was shocked to see the one that killed Mira here. She ran at him, knocked him over, pulled out her gun, and pointed it to Anderson's face. He gulped in panic at suddenly being on the business end of two guns.

"Why?" she screamed.

Su stared at Vi in shock. She'd never actually seen her violent before…it was kinda interesting.

Lestrade slide up to them, panic in his eyes. He was unused to this much violence among friends. "May I kindly request that you not shoot my forensics officer?" He gulped. "...Please?"

Sherlock smirked. "Yes, it would be a shame to make a mess of the carpets. I've some poison if you'd like. . ."

Lestrade glared at him.

He threw his hands up in mock exasperation. "Just trying to help."

John rolled his eyes. "No poisoning Anderson, Sherlock. And no worms in the tub either."

Violet nodded. "Shooting is faster. Poison will take too long to kill this wretched murderer! Though maybe he would prefer to be stabbed like Mira was!"

Anderson stared up at the gun, then into the face of Violet. He laughed angrily._**"**_You're asking me why? When you've been murdering people all over London, you ask me why? Why shouldn't I kill the people who murdered my boss' _daugher_? Anderson's eyes filled with grief and fury and the madness of helplessness as he spit the words at her.

John's eyes misted. Faith lowered her head.

Lestrade looked away. He couldn't. He just couldn't.

The Doctor's eyes went wide. That explained everything. "Oh. Well. Oh."

Faith stared at him. "Misjudge a step, Doctor? You can't take it back."

Susie was shocked at this revalation. Another child?

Violet shook her head violently._ "_It wasn't us! We were set up! And just randomly killing without asking questions is wrong!"

_**"**_Since when?" Susie muttered under her breath.

Byrne ran back from the door. Her eyes were brimming with tears.

Sherlock sighed. Apparently they hadn't talked about Grace yet.

"Is it true?" she asked, her green eyes wide with concern. "Greg? Did they. . ."

He sighed._ "_Sherlock says they're innocent. I. . . I don't know what to believe. But will everyone just _stop_ for a second! God's sakes! Anderson, apologize. Susie, put the gun down. Violet, just, stop. Please." He sank to his knees. This was all a bit much for him.

Violet stormed out of the room.

Faith walked over to the older man and knelt beside him. She rested a hand on his shoulder, tentatively. "She's at peace."

Lestrade stared up at Faith, tears in his eyes. "Faith, dear, sweet Faith. Do you really believe that, after what you've seen?" He couldn't stop thinking about watching her come back from the dead, how he wished he could bring back Grace the same way. But he couldn't. He knew it. He sighed.

Byrne threw her arms around him and hauled him onto the couch. After a minute of hesitation, he clung to her, sobbing.

Sherlock watched awkwardly before stalking out of the building, his coat flapping behind him.

Anderson sat up carefully, eyeing Susie apprehensively.

Susie holstered her gun and reached down to help him up. Hesitantly Anderson accepted the help. As soon as he was on his feet, Susie landed a punch that knocked him flat on his back again. She looked down at him with bleak eyes.

**"**Stay away from me. You won't always have your boss around to keep you alive."

Faith's eyes followed Sherlock as he left. John made a move to go after him, but Faith stopped him. "Let me."

John looked torn, but nodded. Faith followed Sherlock out the door. Feeling a bit useless, John walked to the kitchen to make tea.

The Doctor looked at Anderson awkwardly._ "_We didn't kill Lestrade's daughter, Henry."

Anderson stared at the doctor in disbelief. And he didn't even try to figure out how the man knew his first name. "Sure you didn't!" He exclaimed sarcastically. "It must of been someone else who just happened to look the spitting image of you, yes? Trying to set you up?"

The Doctor looked at him quizzically and bemusedly._ "_Wow. The stupid ape's actually got it."

Anderson glared at the doctor in confusion and anger.** "**What are you talking about?"

Romana had been quiet, tending to Jacks bullet wound. It had gone right through, and wasn't as bad as it had seemed at first. He was nearly unconscious though, and she'd given him a mild sedative out of Watson's store. She turned, standing up. _"_Doctor, really. Calling them that isn't polite. I think we need to figure out what makes the duplicates, like Hart's, different… and follow them. See what they're up to."

Violet came back in, calmed down. She looked at the scene before her and stalked to the Doctor's side. "Doctor? Are we doing any good here? Or is there something more useful we could be doing to stop whoever it is that's doing this?"

**"**Patience, Violet. For better or worse, we need these people. Wow. Never thought I'd say that. But there it is." He put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her to his side. "And there's something else we have to do first."

Anderson stared at him in shock.** "**Wait, wait just a minute! Are you trying to tell me there really IS someone out there pretending to be you? Please! That's the oldest excuse in the book!"

Violet looked in disbelief at the man. "You still don't believe us? Please do yourself a favor and say you do before I get bitchy again!"

Lestrade pulled away from Al, who smiled worriedly at him_. "_Ok. Anderson, I know. I know. But Sherlock said. . ."

**"**Show me the proof! Then I'll believe you. Until then stay the hell away from me! And what the hell makes you think I give a damn what Sherlock says, huh?!"

Lestrade's eyes snapped up angrily._ "_She was_ my_ daughter, Anderson!_ I_ get to decide who to trust! Now I'm still not sure. But I want to catch the bastards responsible. I want them to suffer. And if that means accidentally working with them until I know for sure, I will do it. I swear on Aster's grave, on the grave of my Grace, and on my own soul that I will not rest until justice has been served. So you are with me, or you are against me. But I trust Sherlock. Always have. Never won't."

As he returns from the kitchen, John's eyes narrowed dangerously at Anderson, The Soldier coming to the forefront: hands moving subconsciously behind his back, feet evenly spaced with his shoulders, chin up.

Anderson stared at his boss in shock and pain. Damn Sherlock and his interfering! He gave a grimace before speaking carefully, through a throat tight with suppressed emotions._ "_Fine. I'm with you. But only because I refuse to let you go anywhere with these bastards alone, got it?"

Byrne stood, her eyes never wavering from Lestrade._ "_Wherever you go. I didn't have much planned here anyway. Might as well help save the world."

Lestrade nodded at them both.

The Doctor sighed in relief.** "**Thank you."

Lestrade grimaced.** "**I'm not doing it for you, Doctor. It's all for her. She deserves justice. They all do."

John nodded in agreement. "For Grace."

"Where do we start to find them?" asked Violet.

The Doctor shot her his signature grin._ "_Fantastic! Yes, we should get going. But like I said, I need to do something first. Then we'll answer that."


End file.
